We Wait for Moments with Baited Breath
by lalalyds2
Summary: Three times Lettie thinks about kissing Jenny. One time she doesn't.


_I know, I know, this trope is overused. But if it wasn't so good, it wouldn't_ **be** _overused. I dunno fam, Jenny/Lettie are too adorable and I'm weak. ;p_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

The first time Lettie sees the now infamous Jenny Lind, the last thing on her mind is forgiving her.

For, in her still smoldering opinion, this is the nightingale's fault. For distracting Phineas, for demanding all his attention (when it should have at least been a little divided), for destroying a marriage all within one photograph.

Those are not the deeds of a good person.

So, when Lettie sees her at the bar — Lettie's favorite, no less, is nothing sacred? — she marches straight up to the satin-laced woman, intent on speaking her mind, when she stops cold.

Tears streaking down such pale, pale cheeks, cream-colored stationary crumpled in one tiny fist, the nightingale is injured.

Righteous indignation fails, draining into her toes and out her fingertips, till she is left soft and concerned, sitting quietly on the barstool next to the crumpled songstress.

"Ms. Lind." Perhaps too formal, but the ground is too shaky to tread with familiarity. "What's amiss?"

The letter held out in a trembling grip is her only response, the other hand covering her downcast eyes.

Lettie takes it gently, tossing her one more worried glance before reading the offending paper.

And it is quite offending indeed.

Lettie is not a stranger to the topic of harsh mothers. The words still make her wince.

"I guess my question of why you're still here has been answered." It's meant as a joke, but Jenny only sniffles.

"I can't go home."

The woman is so quiet, so defeated. Nothing like the confident lady towering over every voice in the Queen's court or in the afterglow of a victorious performance.

As much as that voice had flooded Lettie's senses with insecurity (and something else she couldn't quite yet name), it was infinitely better than the quiet nothingness she spoke in now.

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that." She tries, obvious effort in her optimism. Jenny shakes her head, resigned.

"She did. And she's right."

Surprising herself, Lettie snorts.

"No. You made a mistake—and I'm pretty sure I'm still mad about that, by the way—but that was just anger. You can't help who you love, and sometimes not even who you hurt."

"It was my choice, then, in that moment. I could have let go, could have forgiven. But I didn't. I chose injury."

Her voice is mystified, disbelievingly angry at herself. Lettie has a realization.

"That's not a choice you make often, is it?"

Another shake of the head.

"I can't even remember the last time it was intentional." A long pause, then, as an afterthought: "In school. I pulled a girl's braid."

At Lettie's incredulous look, she blushes, and elaborates.

"She was intolerable. Dripping in wealth and fabricated self-importance. She was mocking a fellow student who'd often been the target of such unsolicited ridicule, and I don't know what came over me, but I went right over to them and yanked the terrible girl's braid down. And, if I remember correctly, she went straight down with it."

She can't help it, she peals with laughter. Loud and lighthearted and genuinely so amused.

Jenny is momentarily startled, then slowly melts, her face relaxing into an embarrassed little grin, then into a smile, then she's chuckling right along with Lettie. Soon, they are laughing full-blown, stitching at the sides, tears at the corners of the eyes, clutching the other's arm to stay on those precarious bar stools.

It's therapeutic and kind, more healing than humor, and Lettie's heart is so softened to the woman next to her. Enemy turned to something else. Not quite a friend, but not less than that.

She turns to Jenny, and her eyes are finally alight, sparkling with something happy and new, lips stretched into something devastatingly pretty.

Lettie stares too long.

Definitely not less than a friend. Definitely not.

Silence settles between them, several degrees more comfortable, and Lettie can't stop glancing at her. Those pale hands no longer trembling, she's suddenly overcome with the urge to hold them. To do something, something bigger. Bolder. Much bolder.

It's probably too much, so instead, she settles on something safer.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I should probably return to Europe, but...not yet. I can't go back right now, but I know I shouldn't stay here."

"You should." Lettie blurts out, cheeks pinkening as Jenny's surprised gaze matches hers.

"What?"

"Stay. You should stay." A hard swallow, then her tongue clumsily trips over the spoken olive branch.

"New York's a big place, America even bigger. Mistakes only last until the next one is made. It'll happen sooner than blinking. You could be anyone you want here. And, well, if you're here, you won't have to wait for that new mistake by yourself."

She's not sure Jenny caught her drift. The woman stares at her curiously, something akin to wonder and nervous hope starting to glow anew in her eyes.

The wait is making Lettie uncomfortable. Had that been too much, again? Had she overstepped some sort of bounds? She's about to take it back, when—

"Okay."

She could almost kiss her in sheer relief at an answer. She catches that thought for scrutiny later, and simply smiles.

"So, you're staying?"

"I'm staying."

* * *

Jenny is a fast walker. A flurry of purple skirts and fiery hair that bounces under the sunlight, she is a dash of wind when her mind's set on it.

If Lettie had known where she was going, she might have been able to pause and enjoy that view. Instead, she is hurrying to catch up to wherever her new friend is taking her.

Weeks had passed since Lettie had shared a drink and conversation with the songstress in the bar. Since then, she had spent every weekend with her, and many weekdays in between. Well, weeknights, as it were.

After almost every performance, Lettie would hang up her costume and slip out the tent's door. Sometimes she'd meet Jenny in the back and they'd explore all that New York's night life had to offer together, other times, they'd simply stay in. Lettie's apartment was rarely empty, so she was often seen in the halls of the Astor hotel, always so tentative when knocking on that lavish apartment door. Always welcomed with Jenny's happy little grin and a steaming cup of tea.

It's something Lettie has never quite gotten used to, but she'd like to. The warmth that spreads across her entire being every time that door is opened, the simple pleasure of being able to gossip about her day (and see that Jenny truly _wants_ to know), the glow she gets at Jenny's excitement that rivals the glow after a particularly successful performance—well, it's a feeling that could quickly become _addictive_.

But… those feelings—those occasions—they'd all happened at _night_. Where nobody could see the two women, make incorrect assumptions, and spread gossip. Where nobody could openly stare at Lettie and make her feel… less than nothing. Where she didn't feel so out in the open. Lettie is no longer afraid of attention, in fact she welcomes it with open arms when performing, but open scrutiny in the cruel blare of daylight is a lot to take.

But Jenny had asked her for one afternoon out, she'd wanted to show her something. Her eyes had been too blue, her expression had been too hopeful…and for goodness' sake, the woman had taken her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it, so nervous—so sure she'd say no.

It had taken less than a heartbeat for Lettie to say yes.

Now, she is starting to regret it.

Jenny must have noticed she'd lost her at some point, Lettie watches as her elegant neck cranes so she can look side to side for sign of the bearded lady. Her gaze alights on her (and—perhaps Lettie's just imagining it—her eyes light up too), and then she's walking to Lettie's side, taking her arm in hers, and giving her a chagrined little grin in apology as she gently leads her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

Lettie wants to ask her for what—that she'd lost her, or that she hadn't remembered how the public viewed her beard.

Instead, she just pats the hand tucked so perfectly in the crook of her elbow. Those slender fingers squeeze gently. Oh no, she's starting to feel _things_ again.

Quite literally, she is walking headfirst into unknown, potentially dangerous areas.

"Just tell me we're almost to… wherever it is we're going."

"Actually, we're here."

Lettie blinks up at the brick building. The wooden sign above the door is telling her everything she needs to know about it, but she just has more questions.

"An orphanage?"

Jenny nods, smiling at the confused look painted all over Lettie's face.

"Last night you asked me what I've been doing recently, since I haven't been performing." She gestures back at the building. "This is it."

Lettie's pretty sure she can't do a quarter of the tricks her circus family can, but the flip-flops her heart is doing inside her chest is still pretty impressive. She vaguely remembers Phillip once told her Jenny was big into charities and donating to orphans and widows, but she never knew it was so sincere. But of course, Jenny is. If Jenny is anything, it's sincere.

Lettie wishes she wasn't, if only because Jenny's sincerity does weird things to her heart and makes her head go all fuzzy. If she didn't know any better, she'd suspect these feelings were something like a crush.

"Would you like to meet them all?" Jenny's question pulls her out her reverie. As she blinks her thoughts away, Jenny blushes, and they all come back with a roaring vengeance.

"I may have told them a bit about you."

If Lettie'd been toying with the idea of saying no before, it vanishes now.

"Better say hi then, right?"

Jenny's relieved smile is reward enough, but then she's opening the doors, and children are clamoring around the two women, and they are _happy_ to see Lettie.

A tiny girl with a gigantic mop of hair immediately hops into Lettie's surprised arms, chattering away about how much she's wanted to meet Lettie, and there's an entire group of little elbows and knees and smiles… and it's all for Lettie. They're all excited for _her_.

It's humbling and overwhelming and purely kind, and Lettie's heart is so incredibly full.

Arms overflowing with exuberant children, she looks over to Jenny.

A toddler on her hip, tugging at her usually impeccable hair, she is positively joyous. Carefree and exuberant, she smiles at Lettie. It pierces Lettie's chest, settling there as if it's always belonged. Returning home.

Utterly breathless, she stares at those smiling lips, and a treacherous thought slips through. She won't think about it now though. Best to save it till later, or never.

Much later, when night has fallen and they are exhausted from chasing around boundlessly energized children, they walk home. Jenny nudges her shoulder against Lettie's as they navigate through the empty streets.

"Thank you for coming with me today," she says.

Lettie can't find words for how much she enjoyed coming with, she smiles into the night.

"I'm glad I went. Children are my weakness."

Jenny's laugh rings soft and happy in the humid, summer air.

"I know."

They walk on in a contented, quiet fashion. Lettie's thoughts are loud in her head.

 _Bet you don't know I have a new weakness. Bet you don't know it's for you._

* * *

It has been a very long night, and Lettie would like nothing more than to go home and stay in bed for a thousand years. Many nights, the crowd was a good one, and Lettie relished the moments she could sing to them and hear them sing back.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Apparently not even fires can keep away ignorant hatred for long. Men who did not deserve to call themselves as such were waiting as Lettie's family left the circus' tents. The spit she hadn't minded, she was well used to it—the violence, well… no one should get used to violence.

Thanks to their skill-less handiwork, Lettie looks a fright.

And Jenny is waiting for her.

She'd promised Jenny she'd stop by for tea tonight, before heading home.

It was nearly routine, at this point. She usually looks forward to it.

But tonight, tonight she is tired and sore and burdened, and she'd rather not have Jenny look at her like this. It's not all entirely because of vanity. She knows she is not a typical beauty—she's never going to look perfect like Jenny does, and she's accepted it—but she does not typically look so… defeated.

But as she wearily knocks on the egg-shell door, it's how she feels.

She takes in a breath, Jenny is already smiling in anticipation as she swings open the door, she holds it as the beauty's face instantly falls.

Her breath is released along with her next words, all in one go.

"It looks worse than it feels."

Jenny's hands reach up to gently cup Lettie's face, her hands so unspeakably tender, so unbelievably kind.

She's only soft, yet Lettie still tenses. She is touching her **_beard_**. She knows the action isn't spurred by anything other than the desire to comfort, but it's her **_beard_**. The reason she has been injured, the reason no one touches her face except in anger.

She's already cringing, preparing herself for the disgust, or the hands dropping as if burned (as if hair on a woman can hurt).

Jenny's hands stay, no reaction, as if it's all normal, and there is only concern in her touch.

"My poor Lettie." Is all she murmurs, concern swimming in her eyes, some emotion Lettie is too tired to decipher dancing on her glistening lashes.

She is exhausted, physically and emotionally wounded, but within seconds of Jenny's hands acting like a balm on her soul, she feels relief. Her body sags, and she manages to breathe through whatever is getting stuck in her throat.

"I think I could use some tea."

No sooner is it soothing the aches in her bones, that Jenny's hopped up off the couch, rummages through things around the apartment, and comes back with supplies and a determined look on her face.

As she hands Lettie ice for wherever hurts most, she sets to work wetting a towel and gently wiping at her scrapes.

Lettie can't help it—she winces at the stinging contact. Jenny soothes her lowly, hands so gentle now they practically ghost across her tanned skin. It's nearly pleasant, and Lettie finds herself suppressing an altogether different shudder at the sensation.

She's content to sip her tea with her eyes closed, heady on how close Jenny is to her, hands so soft and delicate with her. She can't remember the last time someone took care of her as nicely as this. She's nearly been lulled into a light sleep when she hears a tiny sniffle.

Eyes open. Jenny, the sweet little bird, is crying. Over her.

"Oh, don't," she pleads, taking those small hands in hers. "It's not so bad anymore, I'm fine. It's alright."

"But it's _not_." There is fierce anguish in Jenny's tone, helpless rage at the terrible injustice. Her grip tightens, and there's a sea storming in her eyes, gaze stricken and focused on Lettie. "How could anybody _do_ this to you?"

Suddenly, the floor is fascinating, and she's finding it difficult to swallow. She laughs bitterly, and manages a shrug.

"Because I'm me."

Those sweet little hands cup her face again, fingers caressing and so accepting of her most _infamous_ feature, so she has no choice but to look at the woman beside her.

And oh, heavens above, her expression.

Devoted awe, fervent opinion, and slight disbelief, as if she didn't believe what she'd just heard.

"Lettie, you are _wonderful_. You are exactly you, and the world is so much better for it. _I_ am so much better for it. You… **are**."

A tear slides down her cheek, wiped off by a pale, magnificent thumb. The words, the sentiment, it means everything. She can't even begin to express how much.

She's not sure how to return what Jenny's given her just now, but she vows this: she'll finally be honest, even if it's just with herself. She's ready.

She is in love with Jenny Lind, and she desperately wants to kiss her.

But maybe not tonight.

She's too fragile, and Jenny's too eager to help her, and the timing just isn't right… Maybe it never will be. She won't dwell on that pessimism right now, she's trying to be honest. So she will be.

"I'm tired." Her hands go up to Jenny's delicate wrists, giving them the slightest of squeezes in effort to show a tiny modicum of the gratitude and affection she holds her.

She smiles—she understands.

Again, Lettie wants to kiss her.

"Stay here," Jenny offers, popping up to turn down her bedsheets. Lettie blushes, and adamantly shakes her head.

"I couldn't."

"You can and you should. You're injured and exhausted, and quite frankly, you'll sleep better here." Her eyes soften so sweetly, sincerity shining from that residual eye water.

"Let me take care of you."

She is weak, and she can't refuse.

"Okay."

* * *

She is a coward.

It's been almost two months since she was finally honest with herself, and she hasn't done one single thing with that honesty.

Her outer wounds have all healed, but her heart is aching.

She wants to be Jenny's.

She sees her nearly every night now, has even coaxed her into coming to the circus.

If Jenny can be brave enough to face _Phineas_ after what happened, why can't Lettie be brave enough to tell her how she feels?

Because she is a coward.

Her friendship with Jenny is precious, she's never had anything like it. She'll be damned if she lets something like _feelings_ mess it up.

But every time Jenny smiles at her, which is often, her eyes lighting up and her nose crinkling with uninhibited delight at something _Lettie_ did, well—she's very tempted. But something stops her every time, and she assumes it's for a reason (other than cowardice, of course). Maybe the cosmos is trying to tell her to wait.

She'd like to tell the cosmos to kindly knock it off. She wants her girl.

Thankfully, it's Sunday, which means she's got the entire day to spend it with Jenny, and she's not sure what that entails, but Jenny had asked her to bring her fiddle. She's not sure why, but she knows it will be good.

She's practically thrumming with excitement and affection and nerves when she knocks on Jenny's door.

For once, Jenny doesn't answer it herself, but the soft call of "it's open" reassures her. When she walks in, she realizes why.

Surprisingly, Jenny is playing the harp. Unsurprisingly, she is playing it well.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Lettie sighs once she's finished her concerto. Jenny laughs, all crystalline and tinkling, and it's all Lettie can do to not melt right on the floor.

"There is a great and terrible number of things I can't do."

Lettie's quirked brow speaks in volumes. She laughs again.

"No really."

"Name one thing."

Her lips purse, lush and teasing, and Lettie swears she's doing it on purpose. Jenny shrugs.

"There's just too many."

"Then I don't believe you."

She's grinning, and Lettie's wondering if they're flirting. Her cheeks are flushing, so perhaps… could she dare to dream?

She does.

But then the subject is changing, and they are making music together, and though they're not a 60-piece orchestra, it is still beautiful.

It's Jenny idea for them to sing together. She argues that it's not fair—Jenny is classically and professionally trained, after all—but the little diva insists.

Lettie is glad she did.

From the very first time she'd heard Jenny perform, she knew God had placed an angel on that stage. But now—them singing together—it's like the entire heavens have come to play on earth's surface. Jenny's voice is liquid diamonds, she says Lettie's sounds like molten gold, and together they could fill a treasury with notes and keys and melodies.

They just fit.

Lettie tries not to read too much into that.

Instead, she focuses on the song they're singing, going higher than she has the entire afternoon, and there's a stunned silence.

Before she can so much as blush, Jenny's singing a note higher.

Competitive woman.

But so is Lettie, so she goes higher. Jenny goes even higher. So does Lettie.

Jenny jumps up an entire fifth. Lettie is beaten.

Undeterred, she pokes Jenny in the side, cutting her off before she can triumphantly "win," too busy shrieking at the tickling sensation.

Lettie freezes. They've never been uncomfortable with touch before, but Lettie's never been so forward either. She shouldn't have worried though, except for Jenny's retaliation.

It comes with a vengeance, till Lettie is gasping and breathless from laughing too hard, and the world is blurring with such unadulterated and childish play.

Then Jenny's hands are on her still-aching-from-smiling cheeks and she's leaning forward and their lips collide.

The world stops.

Lettie sighs into her, her entire being screaming _**finally**_.

The world starts again.

Her eyes open to stare at Jenny's. Stars and wonder stare back at her.

"I finally did it," the petite woman breathes. "I finally kissed you."

The words send her soaring.

She's not alone in this. She wasn't the only one.

But of course, nerves and worry strike once more.

"And now that you've done it… what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to wait."

Curiosity wins over dread.

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for you to kiss me again."

She smiles.

"I think we've waited long enough for that."

They stop waiting.

* * *

 _I hope you liked it! If you have any requests for this pairing, please share them with me, I'd love to write them! :)_


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